


Mornings

by swishandflickwit



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Nessian - Freeform, acotar fan fiction, acotar ff, nessian fan fiction, nessian ff, nessian fluff, nessian smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 18:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: It is an important morning for Nesta and Cassian. The first of what they hope, is many more to come.





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Just some sweet, it'll-rot-your-teeth, smuff to whet your appetite as I finish my Nessian at Starfall fic. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Freckles.

He was astonished to find that she had _freckles._

Not on her face like that of her sister’s, but tiny flecks of them smattered down the length of her back like spilled starlight.

He hadn’t noticed them the night before, consumed as he was with his passion for her. But here, laid as she was flat on her stomach and with the sunbeams drifting in through their bay window—they glowed.

Come to think of it, _everything_ about her was awash in effulgence.

She painted a divine figure. Her silhouette was etched in light as if the sunbeams, too, were fixated on the subtle yet elegant power she radiated. As if they wanted to be in her presence, always.

(Not unlike him. After all, she had that effect on most _anything_ )

She was fast asleep, judging by the evenness of her breaths, so he didn’t _want_ to disturb her.

But she was so lovely, so _tempting,_ miles and miles of her skin begging to be explored. And he was a weak thing, intoxicated by the scent and the taste of her, the _feel_ of her.

So he resolved to be gentle, the tips of his callused fingers tracing constellations in the speckles spanning her comely spine.

Still, he was a weak, weak thing and fingers were suddenly feeling all too inadequate. So he leaned down, her skin radiating warmth as he forged a similar path with his lips. A nip here and a nibble there, his kisses growing bolder as her heartbeat grew louder, and her breathing heavier.

_Awake._

At the touch of his tongue, she moaned and he stopped his sinful caresses just long enough to smile against her skin. When she didn’t turn to face him, he continued his ministrations, his lips trailing lower and lower till his thumbs were stroking at the dimples on her lower back.

She squirmed and he chuckled at how ticklish she was before giving the curvy indents another graze. She groaned, the sound epitomizing her discontent, so he kissed the small of her back in apology and slid his palms along the delectable curves of her derrière. He gave one of her bottom cheeks a playful squeeze before licking at the underside.

 _Delicious,_ he thought. She was unequivocally delicious and he hungered, not just for her body but for everything else that made her inimitable, from her quick-wit and her ability to hold a room captive by the manner with which she walked or spoke, to her unparalleled passion, her tenacious loyalty and the fierce way she loved. 

And oh, how she _loved._

For she did not give it freely, it had never been her custom. It was a privilege she did not bestow onto many, and so to be counted as one of those she cared about was, inarguably, one of the highest honors he had ever achieved in his lifetime.

Loving her, and to be loved by her, was a blessing and one he did not, _would_ not, take for granted.

So here he was, on his knees, swearing fealty to the plains and valleys that encompassed the shape of her, his lips branding oaths of protection and fidelity onto her skin, searing the very soul of him onto her the only way he knew how—with his body.

His fingers ghosted down the backs of her knees where he carved blithe, little letters of his affection. She would not have it, of course, the impatient creature. She wriggled her shoulders and shifted down so as to force him to go where she most desired. But he wanted to draw this out. He wanted this experience to last—to have her burn and burn and _burn_ , her blood an inferno in her veins and then, _only_ then, would he wring every ounce, every drip of pleasure from her.

Slowly, he crawled from the backs of her knees up to the inside of her thigh, inching towards her core. . .  

Only to pull away and begin that same, maddening path all over again.

By the fifth time he did it—he was pleasantly surprised she held for this long—gone was the molten repose that anchored her bones, only the quivering mess of her being, her liquid desire pooling onto the ivory sheets.

“Cassian,” she panted, angrily or desperately, he couldn’t tell. There was only the haze of his ardor and the smell of her arousal as he buried his fingers into her and she cried.

He draped himself beside her, their hairs a burst of rustic color against the pale linens as he nosed at the nape of her neck. She pressed herself closer to him, her back leaning against his chest and the length of him slotted into the crease of her bottom like a missing piece finding its place in a puzzle and thereby completing the picture.

She whimpered as he withdrew from her core, would have continued to whimper for sure, if he hadn’t urged her to rest her head on his free arm. He then dragged the fingers of that same arm onto her breast, fondling lightly at a pert nipple while his other hand, the one coated in her essence, found itself submerged into her wet heat once more.

 _“Cassian,”_ she mewled, again and again and again, till his name sounded like a benediction on her lips. For he set such a deliberate pace, two of his fingers straggling along her nether lips before dipping into the inner walls of her sex until she had to beg him, _beg_ him, for that glittering release.

Her heart was raging in her chest, a cadence to match his own thundering organ. Her head was thrown back, the tendons in her neck standing out as she strained to control the celerity with which he tortured her.

Sweat gathered at her temples, at the base of her spine. Her frustration was a living, breathing entity in the air between them but so was her fervor, her thighs slick with her natural effusion.

She was shuddering against him now, near delirious from the carnal pressure. She spread her legs, one resting against his own and causing her posterior to clench around his member. He thrust into her, having driven himself to mad lust as well and subsequently sank his fingers all the way inside her. She fluttered around him.

She was so close—her toes curled and her knuckles white as she clutched at the sheets with a death grip. Her breaths were erratic and her core pulsed with impetuosity. When it was clear that she straddled the precipice of pain and pleasure, he unleashed a final blitz of sensation.

He took her nipple between his fingers and gave it a tweak that had her arching into him. He increased his onslaught on her quim and opened his palm so that he brushed against her clit with every upward movement. He licked at the shell of her ear before nibbling on her earlobe. He curled his fingers inside her as he brushed against the fleshy groove of her walls and—

She burst around him.

Her climax resonated like a tidal wave, cresting over her body in a wave of uninhibited delectation. He went with the current of her, drawing out the rapture by rubbing circles onto her clit till she had to hold his hand, unable to articulate through the silent scream that suspended her ability to speak for him to halt his movements, aberrant as she was with overstimulation. So there he stayed, filling her till she stopped spasming around his fingers.

When she gave leave of him, he withdrew with a squelch. Nesta flopped onto her back, staring up at him with wide, blue-grey eyes that were instantaneously swallowed by black when he held her stare, and coated his tongue with the sweet, aromatic juice of her as he licked his digits clean of her arousal.

She tangled the fingers of one hand in his hair and without prompt, pulled him to her. She leveled her tongue along the seam of his lips and he did not hesitate to melt against her, his mouth a hot, welcome cavern for her to slide into.

Nesta wrapped her long legs around his waist as he settled into the cradle of her thighs, the evidence of his own arousal bearing down onto her stomach. She broke their kiss long enough to whisper, “Your turn,” before slipping her hands from his hair then skimming them down to his torso. But he halted her path, grasping her hands and tangling their fingers on the pillow beside her head. There was no rush, he had told her. Not with the taste of her heavy on his tongue, not when he was utterly content to be consumed by her, just like this.

It was utterly primal yet sensuous—the sun could have set and risen and set again but he did not care to notice.

But even immortals such as them needed to breathe and so he pulled away, only to press kisses onto her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks and then the corner of her mouth.

She smiled, her sigh a sweet exhalation as she whispered his newest appellation into his ear.

It was his turn to beam, the pearly whites of his teeth radiating a light of its own as he returned her tender expression.

“And a good morning to you too,” he murmured against her lips.

And indeed it was a good morning, a _great_ morning. Hopefully, the first of many. His heart was aflutter at the thought of more mornings such as this, eternity stretching before them with endless opportunities to seek the secrets of her body, her mind, her heart and unlock them one by one. He chuckled excitedly, as he nudged gently at the bridge of her nose with his own. He sighed, the metal of their rings clanging together as he squeezed her fingers.

_“Wife.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr! Same name as my AO3 :)


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